


The Rubble of Our Sins

by a tattered rose (atr)



Category: Gilmore Girls
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-11
Updated: 2020-12-09
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:00:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 20,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27515713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/atr/pseuds/a%20tattered%20rose
Summary: "Because you deserve everything. And I knew you'd settle for anything."Every ride has to end, but there are many different rides in every themepark. After all the times Rory has called Logan, he calls her. Post AYITL, ignores last 4 words.
Relationships: Rory Gilmore/Logan Huntzberger
Comments: 7
Kudos: 59





	1. Oh where do we begin

**Author's Note:**

> A/N : Ignores the last 4 words of AYITL, but otherwise picks up from there. I refuse to be forced into writing a pregnancy fic and lose out on all the possibilities that exist without those last 10 seconds. Happily, it's fandom, I don't gotta be!
> 
> A/N2 : Pompeii - Bastille is the soundtrack, and inspired (quite directly) the title. Chapter 1 originally posted on Christmas because Yuletide nostalgia, I guess.

A shade over 6 months after she set up in her grandfather's old study, and a first draft was complete. Chapters here and there were nearly publishable, entire sections were naked bone and a few were rambling meta describing what she'd have to confront or research in order to actually write them, but the hardest work was done. Not forgetting the five different stopping points, none of which felt right. Her editors were mostly concerned with whether it would do well enough for a followup.

But she could breathe.

Backing up her backups under different filenames: harddrive, cloud, thumbdrive, one more time, she stretched mightily and rocked back in the baby soft chair. If she closed her eyes and was very quiet, she could smell the cigar smoke deep in the leather. For the first time in a long time, her brain was calm enough to feel, without trying to pin it all down into words. Crafting reality through vocabulary, cadence, the twists of thought – these were the addictive gifts from her mother. Gifts she appreciated more than anything but the love.

The dregs of sunlight near horizontal, she equipped herself with a fresh mug of coffee and an old sweater, and relocated out to the patio to enjoy the cool summer night. Neighbors were BBQing, and the heavy smoke was as close as she'd get to camping. (Shhh, forget her first LDB event.)

Mid-sip, her pocket began buzzing, and she yelped before fishing out her phone. As close as she'd get to fishing, as well. (No, don't forget Lorelai's fish.)

“Hello?”

“Rory.”

The line was noisy – raucous, even – but Logan's quiet voice cut through. They hadn't spoken since their perfect last hurrah. That had been the point. She hadn't called. Had wanted to, a few times, knocking herself for the crutch until she realized what she wanted to tell him were milestones and joys, not failings and loneliness. Then she'd deleted his contact information from her phone – she had his number, elsewhere, on paper and in memory, but no accidental dials by the twitch of a thumb.

“Logan.” Her mind fell so hard back into writing mode she gasped. _And in the fist moments of calm, shattered..._ _A voice from the past..._ No, it was nothing, not even a footnote. She hoped. (Did she hope? She didn't know.)

“A voice from beyond the grave, eh?” His chuckle was dark.

A particularly familiar shout proceeded a chorus of “huzzahs” in the background. “Is that Finn?”

“It is. What would a celebration be without him?”

It was as hard not to smile at memories of the most improbable man to exist as it was to miss the cynicism lacing his use of the word “celebration.” Her heart sank. “Where are you?”

“I am not sure. I will check.” Background noise slid to the foreground as he shouted “Men, the lady wishes to know where am I?”

A dozen responses clashed, but one word stood out...

“Ah.” He spoke back into the phone. “I am at a bachelors party.” What started light dropped like a dumbbell (closest she'd get to exercising – stop.)

Wrangling the Stars Hollow Gazette by day and writing her book by night left little time or interest in the minutia of the world outside, but she could follow hints, reporter's instinct honed by sniffing out stories big city writers would sniff at. “Logan, are you at _your_ bachelor party?” Her finger itched to end the call. She didn't want to know. It was fine, but she didn't want to know. About this. Not when it was happening.

She'd planned how it would go. A dinner with her mother and grandmother, when Emily would casually mention “oh, did you hear Logan Huntzberger got married XYZ ago?” with a sidelong glance. And then a quick diversion to the latest minor friction in the Emily-Lorelai dynamic, which had grown significantly but could never be smooth. The news would hurt, there would probably be some wallowing in the pits of what ifs, but it would be over and done and so far away.

She wasn't sure where in the world he was, but his breaths were an inch from her ear as hers were to him. That was the opposite of far.

One finger swipe to escape, and she would pretend this call never happened and the plan could go forth. Or hey, she'd heard from him, he was doing well, look at the casual acquaintance they'd have for a while before finally drifting into the nothingness. But she couldn't hang up. Fodder for the book was all well and good, but after all the times he'd picked up the phone on the first ring, nearly every time, she wouldn't, couldn't do that to him.

“Congratulations,” she offered, hesitantly, braced.

The noise became muffled, a door closed, a heavy sigh hitched and she pulled her sweater closer in a way that had nothing to do with chill.

The “Rory” was so sudden, so desperate, she almost dropped her phone. “Tell me not to do it. Tell me to stop it, that I can figure something else out.”

She wanted so badly to misunderstand him. “I can't do that.” Echoing her part in a similar conversation so long ago.

“Tell me – Tell me _anything_.”

Words she didn't have stuck in her throat. He was waiting. And she-of-many-words had none to spend. They'd had Vegas. What happened in Vegas stayed in Vegas. What happened outside Vegas stayed outside Vegas. Vegas was now gone. There was no inside or outside, just a grand expanse of not-her-place. Empty desert flat and still after a gust of wind. Even the tumble weed rooted to the ground.

“Please.” His manic energy had fallen, and he sounded so tired, the kind of tired that spread from the inside out. It was a decade since she'd heard that tone, which had always pulled on her heart. “Rory please. I just need to see you. Before-” he trailed off, a verbal helpless shrug.

Memories of Dean flickered horrifyingly. “I can't be at your _wedding_. A worse thought struck her. “By the time I'd even get there you'd be on your _honeymoon_.” Leaps and bounds beyond a thought she'd ever wanted to have. Hypothetical strange laundry in the closet was a borderline of a city that was no more; hypothetically seeing the non-hypothetical fiance/wife was the crash landing on the plane ride home.

“No, it's on Saturday. I can get you on the red eye tonight. Or a flight tomorrow. Whenever is good, I can- I can borrow a plane. Ours is in Moscow but someone's gotta have one there.”

Oh, a world in which borrowing a plane was as mundane as borrowing a friend's car. Temporally thrown, she checked her phone – it was Tuesday. “What? But you're at your-”

“It's more of a bachelor-week” he forced out, and she heard him pulling himself back together, metaphorically buttoning his jacket.

“Finn's idea?”

“And Colin and Robert. I figured between the three of them one would make it to the ceremony sober enough to not lose the...” For a few moments they were in the past where she'd been the one holding a ring.

For another moment, she remained in the past. Thinking that with the boys singularly, there was hope. Together, all hope was lost. That was maybe...

...Maybe the point.

“Please, Ace.” There was a hint of a smile in his nickname for her, there always was.

Logan had come through for her so much the past years, whenever she'd needed him. Whenever she'd asked. There wasn't any way she could not be there for him the first, the only time he asked something of her. Fully aware she was repeating mistakes of the past, she agreed. “I'll leave tonight.”

And, because it was what Gilmore Girls did: “Tell Finn to save Mo- me a martini or I'll have to turn right around and fly back home.”

Albeit watery, his relieved laugh did her good.

After her phone was stowed, she banged her head against her knee at almost referring to herself as “Mother.”

~*

She landed in France disheveled and sleep deprived. Unable to relax she had whiled her way through many of the in-flight movies, finding something to rant about in each and every one. Her seatmate fled for business class 10 minutes in to her berating the characters of Toy Story 2, but she did find sympathy with Lisa, First Class' lead flight attendant. Rory's slightly drunken verbal barfing was not, she was assured, the strangest conversation held at the front of the plane. Lisa had even had some practical suggestions on the order of washing her face, and not talking until she'd listened.

The airport was a rowdy affair, the Three Musketeers surrounded by a squadron of security officers caught between alarm at the presence of Henry with the matching outfits inhabited by the boys, and the Devil-May-Care license of money. Lots of money. It was odds or evens that Colin had tried to buy the airport.

“Love!” “Reporter Girl!” “Mother!” After so long living in front of computer screens, she'd forgotten how exciting life could be if you simply let go of your notions of reality.

“We've come to whisk you away, our steeds await.”

“Alas, they had to be tethered outside.”

“Not,” she felt ridiculous having to ask this question “actual horses?”

“Of course not. Do you have any idea how much armour chaffs just walking around?”

“And how would poor Henry ever stay on? He be made a fool of.”

“We have declared limousines are a gift of the future well worth the sacrifice of anachronism.”

“But there _are_ five of them.”

“Henry gets his own-”

“-But we can all share another-”

“-Another benefit over quadrupeds.”

It was good to laugh.

They kept the charade up, questioning the provenance of her clothing (exotic land or impoverished village?), and comparing the “footiness” of wines (the chardonnay was stomped by athletes' feet suffering from athletes foot) until they were well out of the city.

“Where are we going? It's not to-” The only way she was getting this far was to forget about many of the details. One of those details being the family estate which logically existed and where, in retrospect... In her mind she would be at a lavishly impersonal city hotel right now.

“We were exiled before we even arrived.” Colin noted, in a burst of rare but always well-timed discretion. “I found a house a county over.”

“Good, that's good,” she managed, taking another sip and helping Finn remove the metal and leather while retaining his underwear.

~*

She missed the grand reveal of Colin's new house, heart pounding in her ears expecting to see their d'Artagnan each moment. Every doorway provided a fresh rush of adrenaline until she was safely deposited in her (thankfully unoccupied) room. Not one to eschew luxuries, she made good use of the gilded bath.

Still nervous, she'd brought her suitcase in with her, and rummaged through the small collection of clothes feeling foolish. For once, she'd underpacked, as if bringing nothing but a pair of modest pajamas and a classic slacks/tshirt ensemble would ensure this was a quick and casual (too casual for _that_ kind of casual) visit.

Two large flat packages lay on her bed when she came out, still toweling her hair. “Eat me” said one, and she opened it with one eye closed. Eclairs, a dozen, each nestled in layers of doilies. Sinking her teeth into one (amazing) she peeked into the other box, usefully labeled “probably do not eat me.”

Free hand rustled through tissue paper to stroke silky fabric. She hated how she automatically spun in a circle, half expecting Logan to be lounging in wait, smirk on his lips.

Wiping her hands thoroughly on her jeans, she held the dress up in front of a full length mirror. Slinky and swooshy and dark blue layers of subtle detailing, it was altogether tastefully elegant.

Lovely. But she wouldn't be needing it.

“Colin?” she called as she bounced down the stairs, prepared to congratulate him on at least acquiring a beautiful property. The house, she discovered, was unaccountably quiet. “Finn?” No one in the dining room-come-bar. Or the kitchen. “Robert?” she tried, as she walked out on to the patio. “Where are you g-”

As soon as she'd stopped expecting him, there was Logan. He jumped up from the heavy iron bench. They stood there, standing, staring.

Logan stopped the silence first by speaking. Thank you to Lisa, Rory remembered to listen.

“Sorry I didn't meet you. I had...” he shrugged helplessly.

“It's fine,” she said slowly, when she was sure he wasn't continuing. “The boys had fun, Henry led them well.”

“Yeah, I saw Henry. Must have been a wild ride, there are a few sharpie tattoos he didn't have the last time I saw him.”

“On the bright side, I don't think he felt it when security tazed him.”

Too briefly, his old smile squinted warm eyes. “He got his, the tazer's in his boot. Also two batons and three pairs of underwear. I stopped looking after those.”

As the ice broke they'd stepped closer; now they could touch, if they both reached out.

Logan gestured for her to sit in a padded chair, pacing in half steps until she was settled. With an abrupt movement and bitten lip he sat himself on a sofa across from her, bouncing knee not stilled by the weight of his forearm as he leaned forwards.

“I'm sorry I asked you to come. I shouldn't have, I wasn't thinking straight.”

“Oh.” Not sure what to do, she started to get back up. “I can go-”

“No.” He'd jumped up, only reseating himself once she had. “That's not what I- I shouldn't have called you, dragged you back into... all this.”

Listen. Watch. Nerves vibrated his body but his eyes were steady on hers. Sad half smile and a shine of pain as if he was watching her unseen from across a crowded room rather than across a coffee table. In the time she wasn't speaking, she recognized the expression. One directed at her so, so often all those months they'd been passing in and out of Vegas. Years she'd been so self-absorbed she'd only found reflection of her own pain as tokens of his concern for her welfare. Chose to see only the promise he'd always be there for her.

“I'm here.” _Now._ _For you._ _Because you asked._

“I'm glad.” As if he hadn't been breathing properly until this moment, he inhaled deeply, shaky exhale stilling the fidgets.

Time was, she'd have taken his hand. But there was a -coffee table- between them now.

“How's your book? I know I pulled you away.”

The deflection was noted, and she answered lightly “I had just sent in a first draft when you called, actually. There's still a lot of work to do but right now it's out of my hands.” She shrugged.

“That's fantastic. I always knew you'd find what you were meant to do.”

She inclined her head in response, searching for a way to move the conversation back onto him, without being the one to acknowledge the elephant. As if, like Shroedinger's cat, it wasn't there until it was there. He needed to be the one to do that. Unfortunately, everything she thought of: “you were so amazing when I was figuring it all out,” “business is going well?” even “how are you?” brought up their relationship, was stupidly impersonal, or lay too close to the thing that was waiting to be called.

She had to settle for “Logan” with careful subtlety of intonation. _Logan, it's time._

He nodded shallowly, quickly, closing his eyes before breaking open. “When I called, I wanted you to rescue me.”

“And now?”

His head drooped. “Now I'm looking at you, and I don't think that's why you came.”

_It's not._ But why she came and what he needed were two different things. “What do you want to be rescued from, Logan?”

His back hit the iron curls hard enough it must have hurt, fingers raking through his hair a mark of his discomfort. Not just the usual trouble with non-blurted emotionally revealing conversations, but the heart-wrenching reality that she hadn't cared enough to coax since they were kids.

“Same old, same old. My father. My family. Their expectations and my _responsibilities_.” Bitterness dripped off him.

“You did it before. You left your father's company. You went out and found a different way.”

“Yeah, but back then I had-” It was nearly, but not quite, an accusation.

With absolute clarity, she knew the question he needed her to ask. Unfortunately, that involved putting herself further out on a limb than she wanted to go. It would be nice to hide under the tumbleweed. Which would mean she was climbing out on the limb of a cactus right now, lower to the ground but infinitely more painful.

If waiting him out didn't work... She'd listened, she'd watched, she was almost sure. Very quickly, she was telling herself to hold no stake in the outcome. They'd already parted ways. Being here with him now was akin to a dream-world. His dream-world. Because he was the one in crisis and she was his catalyst. Ghost from the past. That may not have been her idea when she agreed to come, but damn straight she'd get back on the plane having done her best.

“Logan.” She repeated his name yet again, needing him to stay grounded, to keep herself focused on him in the here and now. “Are you talking about running _away_ from something, or _to_ something?”

Very specifically, she'd avoided saying “someone,” but heat flared in his eyes and she blushed in spite of herself.

“What does it matter?”

“It matters,” she said calmly, belying her internal turmoil, “because if you want to run away I'll help you and support you in any way I can.”

“But?” he whispered, and she would swear she saw his heart tearing. And felt awe, not for the first time, at his bravery. If their places were reversed, she wasn't sure she'd still be sitting there, much less maintaining eye contact. No, she _knew_ she wouldn't. By the time their conversation in the tango club had merely been walking up to the door to this conversation, she'd already folded.

“But if the only way you'll call off the wedding and leave Odette is if I'm waiting for you, then I can't help you.”

Not that she didn't want to. How many times had it been only fear that had stopped her from begging him to “leave Odette, be with me”? The prospect was heady. And all wrong, and why she had to stop seeing him, stop calling him. “Having” him would solve none of her problems, all that would have happened is she'd drag him down with her.

Jaw working, his gaze slid across the intricately laid bricks before he looked at her once more, silent entreaty to take it back for one beat, two, three and then he was walking away.

Rory sat, eyes on the place where he'd been. Not so sure she'd helped at all.

~*

She was still there when a flurry of noise announced the re-arrival of the boys. Not in the mood to join in, she listened to their voices and the clink of glassware echo around the house until Colin finally wandered outside.

“There you are. We tried to announce ourselves so as to avoid any unfortunate interruptions. Did we – miss the fun?”

“He's gone,” she said listlessly.

“Who's gone where love?” Seemingly oblivious, Finn came out and plonked himself in Logan's abandoned seat.

Her hand flailed at the air.

“This isn't good,” announced Robert, and she slapped a hand across her mouth to forestall a sob. There was no better metric of the seriousness of a situation than any of the three being serious.

“Mother don't cry.” Finn flung himself over the table to land at her feet, burying his head in her lap.

Having not grown up in her pedigree, the entitled lives of her peers often wowed her, a nagging feeling she didn't belong. Finn, holy terror of, well, everyone and everything, was a spectacle of debauchery. Yet she was here stroking his head, and it was only half a game for each of them.

It was quite a notion, that she might be loved independent of her status as “ _his_ girl.” Expressed so differently from her Stars Hollow family, the two groups could never understand one another, but there she was in the middle, dual citizenship, a foot in both worlds.

Tightening her grip, she surveyed the three with a stern look, worthy of the endearment. “Which one of you dialed the phone?”

“Phone? What phone? Colin? Do you know of what contraption this woman speaks?”

Got them.

“I know not. Finn?”

The Finn in question bumped his head against her, and she pulled tighter on his hair, up until: “Right. I do seem to recall seeing your lovely visage in a tiny magic box.”

Yelling would be pointless, relieving her frustration and confusion on the heads of the innocent. Well, not innocent. Definitely not innocent. They were many things, and good friends were one. And they were only doing what they thought was for the best. Or what would cause the most interesting result, which could be seen as the same thing if you bent your brain to see the world the way they saw it.

“Look. I know you guys were trying to- I don't know what you were trying to do. But it was a bad idea for me to come.”

Colin spoke for the group. “Not withstanding that 'bad ideas' are kinda our thing, that's why we didn't kidnap you.”

“You set it up.”

“Not true.”

“And a very unfair charge. Colin, I retain you as legal counsel,” Robert chimed in.

“Did we lead the horse to the trough? Certainly. You were not the one scraping him off the floor of the Diner after you abandoned us in New Hampshire.”

Finn grumbled under his breath. “I nearly sobered up walking all the way there.”

Rory ignored him. There had been a flinch in Colin's eye. For a moment, it was a welcome distraction from her righteous indignation. “Colin, did you buy the diner?”

“It is possible I did, yes.”

“It was,” a smile overcame her efforts to remain cross, “quite a trip for you, wasn't it?”

“I'll have you know those are memories I will treasure forever. And be reminded of every time I pay the property tax. Are we forgiven?”

“Hold on,” Robert broke in. “I still haven't heard what the charges are.”

“Being good friends.” Robert was the least bound of the group, but Rory had come to appreciate his stubborn refusal to live life on any but his own terms. “Presumptuous, meddling friends whose hearts are in the right place and whom I am glad are in my life.” She said it knowing they would hear and appreciate the sentiment so strongly the discomfit would send them dragging her into the hills, and away from her last ruminations.

Which they did. Until: “hold up. The sun is missing. Did we forget Logan somewhere?”

Short attention span, thy be the motto of the Life and Death Brigade. To a man, they seemed to have forgotten she didn't belong there.

Short attention span, thy name is Rory Gilmore. She'd forgotten the ongoing bachelor party.

“I need to go. Can I get a key to the house?”

“Haven't got one. I never bother locking the doors.”

“But don't go love, the night's just begun!”

She took the car keys from Colin, along with the assurance he'd buy another, if needed, or hell wanted, to get them back. It was uncharacteristic of her to encourage his reckless purchases, but in this case, her desire to flee won out.

They'd parked in a dark corner, and she was stabbing blindly at the door lock when a presence loomed behind her.

“Rory wait.”

“No! I'm trying to leave. I wasn't here, you don't see me.”

Logan sighed. And opened the car door. “You must have been having a good time if you forgot Colin never locks anything. It's what gives him an excuse to buy a new car every week. Twice if he's partying in a rough part of town.”

She felt a little stupid. “Thank you.” Entrance to the car, however, was blocked by an arm. Stuck, she turned to face him.

“I was at Colin's, looking for you.”

“We went out.”

“I can see that.” There was no anger. “I guess I should have said this before, but I thought it was obvious. “ She shrank back. “The guys love you, they miss you, you should never feel like they need to be out of your life.”

To her surprise, despite the potential double meaning in his words, there was only sincerity. All the times they'd been together, minus this trip, it had been all of them, the LDB outings doubling as an opportunity for Logan to spend time with her. It had honestly never occurred to her that she could call them up herself, or that they'd come if she did. Or that-

“I've missed them too.” Double meaning was also lacking in her response. “I'm going to get back. Watch out for Finn, the waitress has already smacked him twice and I think a third time and she'll be leaving a scar.”

He laughed, head tilting to the sky. “One of many.”

“So...” she looked pointedly at his arm, still blocking egress from the conversation.

It was dropped.

“I wanted to tell you, you were right Ace.”

His eyes were on the sky again, more stars visible here even than in Stars Hollow when it went to sleep. Everything shifted, half the world away from her home skies. She'd taken a little astronomy, and searched for familiarities. Guided only by those, would she be able to find her way home? In a time before GPS, highways, and airports, man still knew how to navigate by the heavens. Now, there were so few reasons to look up, aside from remembering you almost never do.

“I was?”

“I love working with my father. I never thought I would. It was amazing to build something from the ground up, but here I'm part of something, building skyscrapers instead of bus terminals. It's a door I walked through on my own.”

Their first fight had included that door. Words spat out had told her more about the Logan behind the partying playboy than she imagined almost anyone knew. Much later, she'd come to believe that outburst was the presiding factor in his attempt to move on. He'd never had a girlfriend before, and guys aren't known for emotionally supporting one another. He didn't know that sharing the darkness along with the light came with the territory. That trusting the other person to accept it all, hold it safe, wasn't a sign of weakness. Not that his home life had ever taught him that admitting vulnerability could be the opposite of weakness.

“'Men go abroad to wonder at the heights of mountains, the huge waves of the sea, at the long courses of the rivers, at the vast compass of the ocean, at the circular motions of the stars, and they pass by themselves without wondering.'”

“Saint Augustine.”

Leaning back against the rear door, she thought he was still looking up until she glanced over to find him gazing at her instead.

His eyes sparkled with the same mystery as the stars. “If you had asked me to, I'd have been by your side in a heartbeat.”

Listen. To every time he had picked up on the first ring. Every time she felt the need to remind him about Vegas. To the faint jangle of the key. “I know you would have.”

The flinch she'd been expecting didn't come. “Is that why you never asked?”

A flinch she hadn't been expected came from her.

At the next heartbeat, something heavy hit the window of the bar, and the shouting began. The moment was broken.

“I'm going to go.”

“Sounds like third time was the charm.” Logan nodded, and closed the door after her.

Before she turned onto the main road she checked her rearview. Raised a hand in farewell, heart both heavy and lightened by his use of the past tense, and watched him walk inside.


	2. In the city that we love

The next morning she packed up, tucking the dress back in its box. The eclairs were hers. They were also gone. No sense in letting good pastry go stale.

Snores rattled the living room, and she counted one, two... “Guys, where's Colin?”

Two groans – and only two – issued from the couches as she searched under and behind likely looking furniture, wrinkling her nose. It reeked of wet dogs and non-potable pond water. Rule of thumb: after a night out they lay where they fell, unless there was a girl to drag them to a proper bed. All the other doors upstairs had been open as she passed.

“Indoor voice, love. Indoor voice,” Finn mumbled.

“Wow, that waitress really got you.” The bruise on Finn's cheek had swelled, and would only look worse if his complexion was lighter. Feeling no sympathy, she poked until he thudded to the floor in an attempt to get away from her.

Robert cracked an eye. “That wasn't the waitress, that was her boyfriend.”

“Oh Finn.”

She went about supplying them with ample ice and coffee and the rest of the usual hangover aides, which they mixed liberally with hair of the dog until they approached the closest to their senses they ever got.

“Did you leave Colin somewhere? I wanted to say goodbye.”

“I remember bourbon. But I don't think anyone has ever died from bourbon, temperamental mistress though she may be.”

“Yes, they have,” she patronized. “It's called car accidents, or alcohol poisoning, or succumbing to the elements while lying in a ditch.”

“Don't be melodramatic love, it's far too warm to freeze.”

Giving up, she tried Colin's cell again, with the same result as before.

Not happy about it, she entered Logan's number into her phone before thinking better of it and fleecing Robert until she found his. He looked over at her hands and letched without heat: “hello. And a good morning to you too.” She had to smile at her thoughts the previous night. How nice to be permanently friend zoned by a man who didn't believe in friend zones.

It took four rings for Logan to answer, enough time for her to worry what he was doing and what she was interrupting before his groggy 'I have a hangover don't wake me up until I'm dead' voice answered. “What the hell are you even doing up?”

“It's Rory.”

“Rory.” Instantly, he sounded more alert. “Why are you using Robert's phone?”

“I didn't want- Just in case...” In case he was with someone who'd see her name and ask questions. If she was even in his contacts list anymore. “Do you know where Colin is? I'm missing one.”

“I put all three of them in the car last night. A Nissan, it was slim pickings. I think he got it off the waitress's boyfriend. Have you checked outside?”

“I'm looking outside. I have the car, but not the Colin.”

“He'll make his way home eventually.” Logan had obviously curled back up, mumbling slightly. “Did you get home okay?”

Why he thought she was using Robert's phone from Connecticut eluded her before she realized he knew exactly where she was.

“Yes.”

“When he turns up, call me, okay?”

When Colin didn't turn up by the time she'd shoved the other two into showers and then dragged them out again, smell now markedly decreased, they started driving around, looking for something to jog their memories. Rory's increasing anxiety only made her more anxious. Colin had managed to be fine for 35 years, why was finding him so important? _Because,_ a small smug voice answered, _you're not ready to leave._ She ignored the voice.

“There!” shouted Finn, and she stomped the brake.

“What?!”

“I remember pissing on that tree.”

“Are you sure it was _that_ tree in particular, or just _a_ tree?”

“No, he's right.” Robert hung out the window. “My tree is right over there.”

Men.

They walked around the copse calling Colin's name, spotting an old barn hidden from the road.

“Finally!” came an answering shout (finally). “I ran out of wine hours ago!”

A couple minutes later the three were looking down through broken floorboards, Colin looking back up at them.

“Are you okay?”

“The mud broke my fall. What the hell happened? You were supposed to be getting me out. I was joking about starting my new life as a dwarf down here, you know.”

It would be reasonable to describe this turn of events as ridiculous and improbable. However, compared to the outcomes of other adventures, this was fairly tame. Nay, an inevitable eventuality.

Rory looked up at two thoughtful faces.

“Ah,” mused Robert, “this accounts for the smell.”

“I do seem to recall something about looking for a ladder. I thought that was a dream about Rapunzel.”

“You'd make a terrible Prince Charming,” was Colin's input, “but at least you brought Rapunzel. Ah, locks of golden hair to my rescue.”

While the boys bickered, Rory had found a rope, a solid support beam, and after a few false starts and setbacks they were all at ground level.

“Colin, are you sure you're alright?”

“The food was awful. Still, much nicer accommodations than some of the holes I've spent the night in. A solid two and a half stars.”

As they closed in on the house, her phone rang. This time, she recognized the number. “You've reached dumb, dumber, and dumbest, how many I direct your call?”

Logan laughed, much revived since the early morning. “Does that mean the prodigal son has been located?”

“It does.” Much as she'd like to laugh, the boys were still in her shit box, and she didn't want to reward their behaviour. “We got Colin out of the pit, and had a lesson on floorboard safety while exploring dilapidated old French barns.”

An indignant voice chimed in: “I told you, I was looking for a bathroom that lacked bark.”

“Well okay then.” Logan took this in the stride of one to whom this made perfect sense. “Glad it worked out. Sorry I missed it. Please tell me there are pictures.”

“Oh, tons. I particularly like the one we got of Finn jumping in right as we got Colin out.”

“Sounds like quite an adventure.” A voice called his name, and he sounded almost wistful. “I'll see you guys later.”

“This wouldn't have happened if Rory was with us to begin with.” Robert was still cranky after she'd refused to let him take a turn in the hole.

“Don't worry, you'll have a new Mommy soon.” Caught somewhere between sad and jealous, she knew exactly where that had come from.

“Evil Stepmother Odious? We'd rather be orphans.”

“She's that bad?”

“Not bad, just boring.”

“You're forgetting hot.”

“I am not forgetting hot. I am trying to forget the-”

Rory tuned them out as she pulled into the drive.

Everything she'd had with Logan had been earned. He had been wild and passionate, she disciplined and sincere. These things flung them back and forth right at the crazy transitional stage of college, which meant structure to freedom for her, freedom to structure for him. Their lives were inverted, and while not the sole reason they were better together, when they crashed they spiraled off into uncharted waters.

Sure, she'd floundered since then, mistimed gambits dogging her steps. After the campaign trail ended she'd flitted from opportunity to opportunity until they'd started to dry up, never catching a dream she'd begun to forget. Dwelling on the wasted years had driven her deeper, and only now was she finding her footing again. But none of that was Logan's fault. The strength she'd lately found in herself was inexorably linked to the moment she'd reached out her hand and stepped, literally and figuratively, into thin air.

Meanwhile they'd suffered pains of growth together, ones that could never be repeated. She'd been so proud of him as he leapfrogged his way into maturity, stumbling and falling, speeding to catch up when she pulled ahead, and waiting when he'd outpaced her, bringing back nuts and golden balls from his forays into the trees.

Until he hadn't waited, nor come back. A fork in the path, he dove into water while she continued on dry land.

Logan 10 years later had kept right on swimming. Steady and assured where he'd been reckless and cocky. Able and willing to be her touchstone the way she'd been a touchstone to him. He'd kept her boxes in a closet he kept clear of other women's things – another woman's things. She owned a closet, even though it was in Vegas. She should have been the one taking her luggage, erasing her presence each time she left.

Slowly unbuckling her seatbelt, she felt like she was dropping through the air again. She knew the selfish reason she had come. When he was in pain, she wanted to be the one he turned to. Her old, bad habit of enticing the dog to follow, even after she'd dropped the leash. She'd done it with Dean. She'd done it with Jess. When Logan had disappeared after he took back the ring, the pattern seemed to have been broken. But no, here she was again, dog biscuit in hand, cooing and patting her thigh.

~*

Four separate showers later and they were ready for a new day.

The intriguing feature of the Life and Death Brigade was the careful planning of fantastical recklessness. They crafted a narrative world with the care of a seasoned playwright, and then inhabited the world to the fullest. When it went right, the results were nothing less than breathtaking. Life lived on an edge, death defied yet with the very real possibility of, for example, emotional upheaval resulting in short-cutted planning (the Life part), the result of that being an uncivilized gamble on Death, with a collapsed lung taking breath in a rather more literal fashion.

Today was Thursday, and Thursday was Roam Rome Day.

Which was not something she knew before Logan's “see you guys later” became “I hear Colin cheated on the plan to fight it out down in the gladitorial cells,” while she was pulling on her flight outfit of elderly and comforting jeans, and an old pilfered sweatshirt of her mother's celebrating The Bangles.

Of course in that moment she still didn't yet know Logan meant it in reference to actual impending events, though she got an inkling when Finn sped past assuring her that they had, horrifyingly, failed to acquire actual lions and bears and would have to make do with fighting amongst themselves.

“I know you're up there Ace, get down here!” Logan bellowed. “And I know what you think you're going to say, but you're coming with us, if we have to handcuff you to Finn.”

Logan was waiting at the bottom of the stairs, one hand gripping the banister, smiling so hard his teeth were on display.

She couldn't say no to that smile.

“No need to pack, we'll get you things when we get there. Italian fashion is more fashionable than the French.”

“Okay.” And she smiled back. It was not possible in this moment to not see him. Oh she'd looked, was familiar with his sharpened features and wider frame, but it was only in New Hampshire that she'd first let herself be in the presence of Logan, rather than the memory of him. In costume she'd felt in her soul the Rory she'd been. The best of her, as of him, not lost, but merely a part of something more.

Her smile slipping, she hiked it back up and ran down toward him, while his own faded to serious, voice lowered to encompass only the two of them.

“You don't have to come. If it will be weird for you. Weirder than it has been, I mean.” His words were desperately giving her an option, even as his tone urged her to say yes. “I want you there, it feels right, but you can say no, we'll take care of you.”

There was anticipation rather than sadness in his eyes, none of the fragility that had cropped up time and again even during their New England Adventure. His decision was made, and damned if she wouldn't cut her own heart out if it meant getting to run hand in hand once more, now that she was free.

“In Omnia Paratus.”

~*

Yes, she was a selfish person with a tendency to keep taking what was no longer hers. No, acknowledging this was not the same as correcting the defect. That was troubling. Beowulf (the Seamus Heaney translation, of course) wasn't holding her attention but she flicked through it idly while comparing her situation to that of her last flight.

There was no seatmate to scare off, for one. Each of the four might wander off during a movie attempt, but wandering wasn't the same as fleeing. The private plane rivaled Air Force One, and they were the only passengers. Everything before had been so up in the air; flying to Logan was in itself routine but she wasn't going to Vegas and Vegas-Logan was the only one she knew. Now, whoever Logan was, he was by her side. Then, she had been uncertain what role she was expected to play, and how she would do it. Now, that was in the past. She'd helped free him, she hoped, like he'd helped her free herself. Always inverted, their lives. She'd needed to move on and craft a direction, he'd needed to find he was happy where he was.

She saw Logan coming down the hall and pretended she didn't until he was sitting next to her.

“Good book?”

Her eyes rolled. “C'mon, you SO totally have read it, I know you have.”

“I can't believe you packed no clothes but brought a book.” Her objection was stilled by an upraised finger. “Epic poem, I know.”

“An Epic epic poem. And I brought four books, I was packing light.”

“I'll bet you were the kid in high school writing on how Grendel is an antihero.” His look of twinkling disgust indicated he'd written no paper at all, though she was sure he had, and it had been brilliant. One day she might ask to read it.

Slightly distracted by that thought, she answered. “Of course not, there's a whole novel about that. I wrote about Grendel's Mother.”

“The strongest female in the piece, and very Lorelai.” His body was turned to face her, and she did the same.

“If I were you I would never, ever let my mom hear you say that. She might actually read it, and then you would be the one living in a dingy underground room.” Though after the initial horror was played out, she was sure many comparisons between Grendel's mother and Emily would prove very entertaining. 

The glitter in his eye might have worried her, if he would ever be in the same room as Lorelai again. “I'll remember that.” Perhaps the same thought occurred to him, because he swerved topics. “Surprised you're here, Ace?”

“I am. Not that I'm easily surprised by you four anymore. But... our conversations haven't exactly been light and fluffy. I don't know why you'd want me still hanging around.”

“You're making it sound like we didn't threaten to drag you out the door in a potato sack. You're one of us Ace, whether you like it or not.” As if that settled everything, he slouched down into the cushions, propping his feet on the seat opposite.

It was a delicate topic to bring up “but under the circumstances...”

“Stop it Ace,” he drawled. “We both knew what we were doing. And we paid for it. Vegas is done but that doesn't mean our whole friendship has to be.”

That he hadn't shown up in Stars Hollow necessarily expecting to sleep with her was a fact she kept overlooking. On purpose, mostly. Then there came the guilt over how she hadn't been a good friend to him. Not since they met again. This was her trying to make it up to him, too late, a grand gesture of a peace offering to a friendship they maybe had never had at all.

“Did you really find underwear in Henry?”

His teeth shone. “Two of them with phone numbers.”

“Noooo. What kind of girl does that?” She tucked her legs up under her.

“Who said they were girls' underwear?”

Affecting a serious air, she stared at him until he raised an eyebrow. “I have to tell you something. It may shock and disturb you.”

The dramatic pause lengthened until he was trying not to squirm.

“I always thought of Henry as short for Henrietta. Nancy Drew style.” The sad part was she wasn't entirely joking. Even when they were getting along, Paris wasn't one for girl talk. Oh, she would try, but her version needed significant alcohol to approach normalcy. Henry was vastly more relaxed.

It was unclear whether the breath he let out was relief, or something else. “You did not.”

“Like I would walk around the apartment naked with another man staring at me.”

“I can't remember you ever doing that Ace, and not for lack of trying on my part.”

“Because of that time I was almost naked and Colin and Finn just walked in.”

He did not look pleased by this revelation. “So that was why you had me revoke the open door policy? I can't believe it never came up.”

The prospect of a dash for the matches she'd forgotten to bring into the bath had never been so harrowing. “I said 'almost' naked, not 'nearly' naked.”

Vegas had fallen, but the turn in the conversation was more akin to a power outage, underbelly of the neon escapism exposed as the true Sin City it could be. That neither of them were bothered, bothered her. Even though awkwardness would have been worse. This tightrope they were walking was starting to cut into her feet. If they were going to develop a friendship, if they could, their first friendly interaction diving into sexual territory was a poor start. There were, fortunately, other things she was curious about.

“So, Gladiators. I suppose The 400 will creep in. Any room for museums on the itinerary, or does everything involve stubble and sweat? And no jokes about David's nakedness – or his being airlifted in!”

Oh well. As long as sex wasn't sexy...

~*

Turns out the museum had not been on the list, but they squeezed in a short visit. Made shorter by the unamused response to Colin's attempts to buy certain 'cultural antiquities.' As she dragged them out the door, yelling apologies over her shoulder, she had to remind them that jail time was not scheduled in, and if they wanted to add it they'd have to give up the Trevi Fountain dip, as well as gelato.

Rory had been to Rome twice before, enough now that she was less a tourist, more a guest. For her, it would never grow old though, so she stepped out from the bar for some air, lingering in front of the Pantheon. Just as she remembered. So humble yet magnificent, two thousand years old and millions had crossed its threshold: and now it was looking at a McDonald's. The juxtaposition was surreal.

“I brought you a bag.”

“I'm not going to be sick, I haven't become that much of a lightweight.”

“I wouldn't insult you like that. C'mon, I'll help.” Logan placed a hand at the small of her back and gave her a little push. “You know you want to.”

“You'd think they'd have full time guards and a janitor. This is the Pantheon and no one cares!” Rory groused, dropping another handful of empty McNugget boxes into the garbage bag Logan held open. “Who knew my roadside community service hours was in preparation for this day?”

“They must figure it's been through too much to be taken down by cold french fries. And it's better this way.” Back to her, he stooped to retrieve a last wad of napkins. “You know why I hate zoos?”

“The weird phobia you have about micro ecosystems?”

He made a face. “No matter how good our intentions, we're caging creatures who deserve to be free. To get sick and eaten, maybe, but not to have their lives scrutinized and controlled.”

As Mitchum always tried to control him; it wasn't much of a leap. That was the funny thing really. In the best situations, some animals made their habitat their home, restrictions much like those of billions of city dwellers living off takeout and scheduling yoga sessions as one task of many in their daily routine. How many of the animals would choose the zoo life, if they had a choice? Logan was happy now – would he always have walked through that Huntzberger door, if his father hadn't set it with iron bars and poked him with sticks?

“Are you saying the Gods would be locked in and make us fear their wrath if littering a historic landmark was discouraged?”

He shook his head. “In New England we're so precious about our incredibly tiny history we shove it behind glass or red velvet ropes. Whoever built this-”

“-Apollodorus.”

“Thanks. I bet he'd be horrified if the space he'd created was only a thing to be looked at, and ticked off a list, rather than being a part of the city.”

“Well it's a temple, so it wasn't exactly ever intended as functional.” One of the columns was cool and smooth against her back as she slid down to sit against it. “But I get your point.” A mental snapshot brings a sense of awe, a picture tries to chain it, but the being there, where hundreds of generations had taken the liberty of a seat, was an experience.

Logan took the next column over, stretching out his legs. “It's why the Life and Death Brigade was founded, did you know that? Sure, it's always been about stupid stunts, but in WWI everyone was talking about the kids dying overseas. Friends, family, alumni, students. Like it was biggest thing to ever happen. So on the anniversary of the end of the Civil War, a group of students stole five cannons, set up two drums, and spelled out one word in Morse Code. Albeit really really slowly, but it got the point across.”

Nothing in her obsessive research into Yale's history had brought that up. “What was the word?”

“'Remember.' Well technically 'Remembe' without the last R, because that's when the cops showed up and they had to scatter, but we tend to skim over that part.”

“I've read everything ever written about Yale, why have I never heard about this before?”

He shrugged, running his fingers over the stone. “It was war time, it was an embarrassment to the Campus and bigger newspapers had better things to write about than a little political statement out in New Haven.”

Mind reflexively leaping to any number of concerns, potential damage to the canons being in the top three, she both agreed and disagreed. “Also known as a prank. You have a defense for the police car on MIT's dome too?”

He kicked her lightly. “See, you agree with me or you wouldn't have set up that straw man.”

A rowdy group of American students stumbled by, oblivious. One glanced their way and she started, seeing herself through his eyes. Before she met Logan, that would have been her, minus the rowdy and plus a map and day planner.

Logan had seen it too. “It's not always about the over-the-top events. I know you've been watching this building for half an hour. We're the first people to come up here. No one stopping us, we didn't have to sneak in or pay anyone off. That kid? Wouldn't have occurred to him it was even an option. Sees us, and...”

“...And now he wishes he'd been brave enough to join us.”

“Now you're getting it, Ace.” She loved the way he was looking at her, proud and focused and … happy. “Because for us, it wasn't even bravery. Hell, you were tidying up like you owned the place. And for the moment, you do.”

Such a small thing. What they were doing. Sitting. And still, she felt truly alive, maybe more so than at any other point in the day. This was so quiet, slow enough to savour.

“Logan?”

“Mmm?”

“Isn't it exhausting to feel like this all the time?”

_Listen._

Shaking his head softly, familiar squint to his eyes, he was about to respond but changed his mind, snapping his mouth shut. A moment later his features relaxed. “It's not a one and done. Every day, every minute you have to choose to live. But once you start, it'd kill you to stop.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It turns out that particular McD's no longer exists. But it was when I was there, so let's pretend. Also, guess who also had a just-before-curfew chat on the Pantheon's front porch? Alas... mine was arguing abortion with a rabidly conservative teenage boy. Such is my life.


	3. The walls kept tumbling down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally the first chapter not to be posted on a holiday, now re-archived on Thanksgiving. Feels fitting XP

She woke to the pilot announcing their descent. He was good, change in altitude barely felt. Always (well, often) prudent, Rory went to buckle her safety belt, only to find one of her arms stuck and vaguely numb.

Looking down, Logan's temple was pushed into her bicep. Unintentionally, she presumed, as he was tilted awkwardly sideways in his own slumber. Yet it was the first touch since New Hampshire, and the weight of him, the ridge of bone beneath fragile skin, the slips of his breath filtering through the cotton weave onto her skin was cuing her body to do something she really shouldn't.

Any attempt to slide out from under him Jenga-style was doomed to failure. When only one of three bricks remained, all one could hope for was a controlled tumble.

“Hey.” Bleary and mussed, he pushed himself back up. “What's wrong?”

What was wrong was she was sober now, it was the day before his wedding, and what happened in Rome needed to stay there. Not that anything had happened. The sky might be neutral territory but the clock was ticking down, exit sign in view. No such thing as a second go, it was leave the ride or be kicked off. She couldn't regret going to Rome, but it was what it was.

“'Morning. We're landing, I'm going to make sure the boys are still on the plane.”

“You know, technically we're not supposed to be moving around the cabin right now.” He was still relaxed, happy, and she was both jealous of that, and felt like an ass when her inner confusion found expression as she snapped at him:

“Yes, because standing up is the most ridiculous thing I've done this week.” Instantly guilty, she turned and walked away without looking at him, glad when he let her go. Still, she moved quickly, anxiously listening for voices ahead or footsteps behind. The tensions of a nightmare, afraid he'd follow and catch her alone, hesitant to call out in case that drew him to her.

Ridiculous indeed.

Finally hearing voices to her left, she lunged into the room.

“Ah, Sleeping Beauty is awake!”

“Good night?” she asked, surveying the scatter of paper and poker chips, empty bottles and chip-chips strewn across the table.

Robert held up one of the scraps that had been serving as a coaster. “Colin lost this plane on a Queen Straight.”

“It was one in a thousand you had that 8!”

“But Colin... You don't own this plane.”

“I know,” reminded Robert, as if she was slow, “I do.”

“But how are you- nevermind. Any of those bottles still got something in it?” She could use a drink.

The boys looked at each other. “Nice nap love?” Finn inquired.

Reaching to shake another bottle, she winced. “A little crick in my neck. In the future I'll leave sleeping in chairs to the 20-year-olds.”

“We thought about waking you, but you two were so cute we didn't have the heart.” Colin waved the deck at her, and waggled an eyebrow.

“Or the spade. Not to mention my luck was finally turning without Logan to trump me. As you can see: uncontested, I triumphed.”

“Maybe a few hands.” Rory settled into the fourth seat with her glass, and tossed in ante from the pile of chips before her.

Colin flicked out the cards. “Usual rules, nothing fancy, but make the bets interesting, money is boring.”

Straight off, Robert nearly lost his third born child with a “damn,” (he'd already gotten rid of his second-born). And, in fact, with his win he got that one back from Finn. In the squabble over whether diaper duties were included, Rory relaxed. Distractions were good.

As it was, the plane circled for nearly an hour, the airport being unusually busy. With each hand Rory promised herself she'd ask to be dealt out and go check on Logan. Each time, there was another excuse not to. He'd probably fallen back asleep. Owning Robert's progeny might be fun. He could use some alone time. Her glass had been refilled. If he wanted company, he'd have come and found them by now.

They met up with him on the tarmac, and if he shot her any odd looks, she didn't see them as game highlights were recounted. As they crossed through the airport, the air grew thicker and louder, until they walked into a wall of people. Every single one dressed in opulence.

A trumpet blew. And her attention was caught by an unfurling movement as a giant banner proclaiming “In Omnia Paratus” fell from the ceiling.

“Wow.” Even with all the noise, Logan was near enough for her to hear his quiet awe.

“You didn't know about this?”

“I did, I just didn't think so many of them would show up.”

That was when the mass of people started resolving into individual faces. She recognized a man she'd met at her very first event, larger now, standing with a yet older man with similar features. A waving arm belonged to Stephanie, who was mouthing something. Near her stood someone she could almost, but not quite, place.

Even though she was starting to guess, the question came out. “Who are all these people?”

Robert was at her elbow. “We lost quite a lot to old age of course – heart attacks, bear attacks, that sort of thing. And more to unsympathetic wives.”

“And husbands.”

“Less than you'd think, even when they don't wear them, women tend to own all the pants.”

“Still, nearly 85% response rate from the living, I'd say. Plus honorary plus ones, of course, trusting on discretion.” Colin looked immensely proud.

A boy – college age, he looked so young – ran up with champagne and flutes.

“These are all Brigade members...”

“Past and present. Had to draw the line at future, sadly enough.” Finn had co-opted the bottle, downing a drink for himself with each one he poured.

There were hundreds. With no airport staff in view. Security must have given up, or rather been paid well to take a collective day off. A girl passed by – woman now – who'd visited once when the girls countered a “boys only” soiree with a vastly more popular one of their own. And there was... Mitchum Huntzberger, headed right for them.

“Oh look!” Finn pointed into the distance. “A vague and mildly plausible reason for us to dash off!”

Rory made to follow them, peeling off instead to hide behind a nearby group. It felt vital that she see this.

Logan's relationship with his father had become solid, now he was where Mitchum had wanted him all along. But in this moment, the edge of a thunderstorm was approaching, and the straight set of Logan's back brought to mind the blustering defiance of times before: hurricane conditions.

“Logan. I thought you must be the one behind this.”

“Spectacularly coincidental timing if I wasn't.” Logan's grip on his glass betrayed him. “Did you come to tell me off? I know how you hate these things.”

Mitchum was not to be derailed. “You know why I'm here. I may have grown up, but the past must be honoured.”

“Not to mention the crucial networking opportunities. There are a lot of very influential people in this room.” No glance was necessary to know that was true. “I've grown up too. So what's your real issue here?”

She could only see Logan's face clearly, but from the steadiness in his eyes, the hint of smile as he glanced over, she knew that for maybe the first time, he felt bigger than his father.

“What the hell do you think you're doing?”

“That depends.”

“On what?”

“On whether you're asking as alumni, or as my father.”

Mitchum weighed the question. “Let's say as an alumnus.” There was a grudging respect there.

“I'm living.”

When nothing more was said, Mitchum's head jerked a nod, and he wheeled around. Rory ducked. Becoming a part of this conversation could not end well. A few paces on he stopped, and without turning: “And what if I'd said 'as your father'?”

The pause was stately. “Then I'd have said 'I'm trying to avoid death.'”

Staring at his father's retreating back, Logan mechanically took a sip of his drink. He was still staring when Stephanie materialized at Rory's elbow, dragging her away.

~*

A string of charter buses took them South. Juliet and Rosemary had joined them, the old crew back together as if they'd never really parted, simply been put on pause.

Admiring the other girls' gowns, Rory admitted what had been on her mind: “I feel out of place,” indicating her attire. She had made a stop at a boutique in Rome, but however elevated the detailing on her new crimson trousers, or well-cut the midnight blazer, she stuck out.

Robert leaned over the back of his seat. “She's forgotten our motto, not a good sign.”

“I also didn't pack a swimsuit or golf clubs. You couldn't have given me a heads up?” It would be fine. It wasn't like her first event, where everyone was a stranger, wary of her very presence.

“But we did love. Lucky for you we'll always have your back.”

A duffelbag landed in her lap, which she unzipped to general female curiousity. The dress. The one she thought she had no use for, and had left on the bed.

“Go get changed, quick, before someone reeks up the bathroom.”

“Too late, but you'll air out.”

Custom tailoring could not have provided a better fit, the cut complementary to her figure. The length too was perfect, just high enough with her heels to keep off the ground. Which was all she could tell by swishes of her hips, glances down, and the small mirror. Excitement tingled as she opened the door.

“There you are.” Logan stood on the other side, fitted out in a suit not unlike the one he had worn on their Adventure. “The last bathroom I tried had Colin in it, not what I was going for.”

“How do I look?” Halfway through her spin he took her hand and raised her arm to twirl her again, more slowly, with a low appreciative whistle.

“Did you have this with you the whole time? I thought you said you'd packed light.”

Searching his face for a sign of recognition, she found none. “Are you saying you didn't do this?”

“No, but now I'm wishing I had. The guys said you were all set.”

Unobtrusively, she ran her fingers over the seams, making sure nothing could be unzipped or pulled away that shouldn't be. Nope, seemed to be just a normal, regular, gorgeous gown.

“At least,” he continued, “I don't feel silly for having this.” Dangling from his forefinger was a necklace, delicately beautiful. A teardrop amethyst dripped a smaller opal, clear icy purple planes supporting a glowing mimic of the world in sky blue and pale green. She lifted her hair and let him fasten it around her neck.

“Perfect.” Stepping back to assess her head to toe, he offered his hand. “Juliet wants to do your hair, we're nearly there.”

Where _there_ was, no one seemed to know. “About that, no hope of a hint?” Fighting back against the draw of his intensity, she shot for playful.

He laughed at her wide-eyed, overly simpering entreaty. “Let's just say we can't be late.”

Twenty minutes later, and she could kick herself for not figuring it out as St Michael's Mount rose up through the windows. An island not far from the mainland, it was joined at low tide, inaccessible except by boat when the tide rolled in. A fact which had played a large part in its history.

“I've always wanted to visit here,” she breathed. There had never been time, though the final setting of John Milton's “Lycidas” begged to be the capstone of a European Tour.

Sightseeing would have to wait. As each bus in turn paused for its passengers to disembark, they were given assignments.

“Right, so find a group and get a map.” A half dozen young men (and two women, Rory was pleased to see), held stacks of paper and GPS devices. We'll have new plots available as the drones finish outlining more sections. Meanwhile, the supplies you'll need will be waiting for you. If you need more we'll have them shipped in. Refreshments are set up over there, but please remember we're on a deadline. Colour inside the lines, and have fun!”

They were shoo'd off as the next bus pulled up.

“Ooh, is this like orienteering? We did that in Girl Scouts,” Rosemary said as she took the GPS.

“Girl Scouts you say?” Finn leaned toward her. “Please tell me you kept the uniform.”

Rosemary swatted him away.

Their map put them at the other side of the island, over the rocky slope. At 57 acres, it still wasn't far, though the scale became imposing. They crossed swath after swath of black petals, and it became clear what they were doing: painting the island in flowers.

“Purple!” Finn opened one of the wide burlap bags in the center of their swatch. “The colour of Royalty. I find this fitting. I shall be King. Now which of you fine fair maidens shall be my Queen?” Finn took a handful of rich violet petals from the bag and held them up, ready to anoint whichever of them didn't back away quickly enough. The girls were swift.

“I shall be thine, though my heart may never be in it. I sacrifice much for my country.” Colin knelt.

“In such an outfit doest thou seek mine arm? Sacrilege!” 

“Hey, it worked for Hatshepsut.”

“Bless you.”

“Boys,” Logan took charge, a role that came so naturally. “I was going to say grab a lady and partner up, but this works too.”

They broke apart instantly. Finn, not surprisingly, snagged Rosemary. Who sidled up to Rory while they were filling newspaper satchels, the easier to transport the materials around the 200 foot long patch. “I just broke up with my boyfriend,” she whispered. “I think it may be time to let Finn catch me.”

Rory smiled back. If anyone had a chance of wrangling Finn into monogamy – or even remembering he had a girlfriend – it was Rosemary. A promise to report in, and they split up.

It came as no surprise that Logan was the one who walked beside her down the slope. They had agreed to work from the sides in, towards the center of the island, to avoid as much as possible traipsing through what had already been laid.

“It's beautiful here. How long have you been planning this?”

“It's taken a while. First choice was actually Le Mont-Saint-Michel, but that was a logistical nightmare.”

“All roofs and trees,” Rory agreed.

“Can you imagine if we'd had to insure that? It would give whoever signed off on Full Metal Jousting a stroke.”

Reaching the point, they started tossing flower petals over the grass.

“Oh I don't know. Covering the carnage, with the inside expose – I wouldn't rule out a Pulitzer. There are very important people here you know – did I see Henry Winkler?” Her path had led her away from journalism, but it was hard to fully escape what had been her dream for so long. Much harder than giving up Harvard. It was why she knew she could never give up on The Stars Hollow Gazette. A small town was its own world: neighbors were Queens and Prime Ministers, wars waged across sidewalks, the outcome of a dog show could change a life – universes seen through a microscope as complex as those viewed through a telescope.

“You would parlay my life for a story? I'd like to say I'm happy to oblige, but in that case I might have to back out.” One arm wrapped around her waist as she stumbled on loose rock.

“Hey I don't make the rules buster, I just report it.” Though that did spark a thought. “A novel, maybe. When Gilmore Girls is finished, I've been thinking more and more of trying fiction.” The biography/memoir was a good fit with her writing history, but the more “what ifs” piled up, the more she was curious if she could create an entire world, characters, a story as beautiful and complex, quirky and alive so as to join the ranks of her favourite authors.

“What would you call it?” he asked, glancing out the corner of his eye.

“I'll think about that and get back to you.” Titles – the right one could guide an entire piece, setting the opening stage and closing the final scene. “Have you ever thought about it? Writing, I mean. You know even Doyle at his snarkiest admitted how good you were.”

He took a minute to reply, so long that they had refilled their satchels and were on their way back out. So long she was opening her mouth for a new subject.

“Writing was never my passion. The only reason you got so many stories out of me was because it was you.”

A fact she had shamelessly exploited. “What was your passion? I mean, what did you always want to be, when you were little?” Hard to believe she had never asked him that question, that it had never come up. Logan was always so in the moment, or fighting the future, looking back had never been anything but a different sort of prison to him, referenced in drips and drabs of context.

“You'll laugh,” he warned.

They began sprinkling fresh ground. “I won't.”

“You will.”

The setup was growing large enough she giggled in anticipation. “Let me guess, you _did_ want to be a ballerina.”

He dropped his next handful on her head. “For that, I'm not telling you.” The words and actions were teasingly playful, but there was a break in his tone. For once, not over her- them. She wouldn't push, not now, but resolved to ask again.

A quick shift in energy and subject indicated he had heard himself. “How are things with your mom?”

“Better.” Listen. “She's looking forwards to reading the book, but I want to give it another pass first.” _Listen_ , Lisa's voice insisted. “Of course, as soon as she's read it my grandmother will have to read it, which will be… interesting.” _Listen._

To his deflection. A form of self-preservation, or simply habit ingrained from it always being about her: her life, her worries, her rules?

“'Lo, Again the Tinned Spaceman Dreams.”

He straightened, face closed. “What?”

“Working title.” She shrugged, self-conscious. “For my novel.”

“Branching out into sci fi?” In the strangled pitch she knew he'd caught the layers of reference.

They had been working at the edge of a micro-cliff, and she sat herself on the edge, dangling her feet above the lower rock. There were tiny cups of water here and there, darting movements that might have been sea life trapped or cocooned – or simply light at play. She watched them, searching for the truth, until he sat beside her, near enough to bump against.

It was time. “Logan, there's something you're not telling me. You call me, all freaked out, and now it's the day before your wedding and you're standing here joking around like it's completely natural to spend your bachelors party with an ex-girlfriend.” The situation, laid out, was the heart of a novella, at least.

A bird cry was abnormally loud, aside the lapping of waves and Juliet laughing a dozen meters away.

Logan was nodding, eyes slipping closed. “You promised you'd be here, if I decided to run away.”

“I did.” A tickle began between her shoulder blades. “But you're not leaving the family business.”

“Not the business, no.”

“But... Then...”

“The wedding is off. I'm not getting married tomorrow.” As if the further clarification was needed. Which, truthfully, it was. Her brain was having a hard time.

“Does Odette know?” was all she had.

“Of _course_ she knows, Ace.” He jumped down the two feet onto the flat rock as if he'd been tethered. “Do you really think I'd just let her stand alone at an altar and not show up?” He scrubbed a hand over his face, plowed it back over his head in exasperation.

“Well, no-”

“-When you told me to figure out why I wanted to run, I went out and thought about it. Really thought. And I realized I'm just a coward. When I first met you, I thought I knew what freedom was – I thought it was time, whatever I could squeeze in before my _destiny_ took over. But it wasn't.”

She sat still, watching him pace, as the old fire ignited in him.

“You were my freedom. And when I lost you it didn't matter what I did, I was trapped either way. And I hated you for that. I thought freedom was being in love. But then it wasn't.”

A gust of wind flung his words around, and Rory saw Juliet stop and look over at them as his voice rose.

“Because you came back into my life and it was like being shut in an Iron Maiden, only allowed out in your stupid _Vegas_ which wasn't stupid at all.” His arms gestured broadly. “You were trying to tell me how fucked up I was- I tried to stick you in a fucking _house_ like however many of my father's god damn mistresses. However I justified it, I started to think maybe that's how he justified it to himself.”

Logan was shredding himself apart in front of her, and all she could do was _listen._

“I honestly believed you would take it.” A harsh laugh punctuated his words. “Let me be a part of your life, if I could just be- You were always smarter than me. And I'm sitting there in that park and all I can think is how much it hurt, and I can't even breath because there's someone in my bed every night expecting me to have anything to give her.”

In the face of his tirade, Rory felt as whipped around as her unpinning hair. “Logan, I-”

“-I'm running from that prison. Death in a loveless marriage where best case is a transactional partnership and a mutual _understanding_. You always knew where freedom was, what it was, I get it, I get you don't need me like I need you, you told me every way you could.”

_That's not true_ , she wanted to shout back. Only maybe it was. A little bit.

“So I don't expect anything from you. I still don't know why you're still here. Because I'm free from my stupid Dynastic imperative over my personal life, but Rory I _know_ I'm still a coward because I'm telling myself it's okay, freedom is saying no and living my own life, but whenever I picture my future I only ever see your face.”

Slapping waves resounded like a storm, collected floral scent as if the whole island was woman asleep in her perfume, shifting as his pacing tickled her arm.

“I thought freedom could be possibilities. Like it is for you. But it's not, because there aren't any. I didn't tell you the wedding was off because I knew when you found out you'd be gone, and I wanted a little more time, I wanted yesterday with you. Another good day while I was worth it for you to stay.”

She knew it was true. Not the part about him being worth it, he was worth anything. But that leaving was always on her mind. Saturday had been the final deadline, all her desires to stay had ended there. Her brain was molasses. The problem was that she could see a picture of her life where Logan was only in her past. That had been her reality for much of the last six months, though arguably having been living in her own history, writing the book, had helped. But maybe that was the awful darkside of her mothers gifts. She'd been too young to know she was fleeing from her birthright, she hadn't made a choice, but running was a part of her, inescapable. The two Gilmore Girls, forever running, running, running hand in hand, too fast and holding on too tightly for anyone to catch hold or keep up for long.

“I went,” a dry sob deflated him and he stopped moving. “I went to Stars Hollow because I've been in love with you for 14 years and every time I have a choice I hear your voice in my head, and the last memory I had of you couldn't be 'we're nothing' and the line going dead. One last Grand Gesture because that's all I have and even if it had to be the last, at least the final memory you had of me wouldn't be the pathetic mess I made of everything. I brought the key to that house because I'm not Jess. I couldn't inspire you to go back to school and I couldn't inspire you to write a book. All I can do is pay for dinner and give you a place to stay and pick up the damn phone if you want someone to talk to.”

_Um,_ was the eloquence her mind possessed. By genre tropes this should be the moment she jumped into his arms with assurances that he was enough, he'd always been more than enough, before sharing a passionate and picturesque kiss at the edge of an island they forgot they were even on. Why wasn't she throwing herself into his arms?

“And even now all I'm thinking is that as long as I keep talking, you won't be walking away from me again.”

She needed time to think. To process. Collected ocean spray had made the hem of her dress heavy and cold where it hit the skin of her ankles. With every second her mind flinging about searching for something to cling onto.

He looked like a beaten puppy.

_You won't want to hesitate, you'll just know._ Her Mom's words from a lifetime ago.

The rocket he'd given her, still resting in the box still unpacked in a closet and labeled with his return address.

'We are afraid to care too much, for fear that the other person does not care at all.' - Eleanor Roosevelt.

Logan was maybe the bravest man she'd ever met.

“Logan,” it was surprising how level her voice was. “What did you want to be, when you were young?”

Confusion became disbelief became a full body shrug. “Ringmaster. In a circus.”

If he'd told her when she first asked, she probably would have laughed. It wasn't funny now. Now his red vest looked like a coat, the red trousers he'd complimented her on reminded her of the red skirt worn by the Ringmistress. A man so full of potential, enough real talent and power to run a multinational group, living out his childhood fantasy amongst his peers. And he couldn't even revel in it, so brutal were the undercurrents lurking in his caravan.

She was buying time. Once they had truly gotten together, she had always known he cared. Too much, she'd sometimes feared, as Paris, as Mitchum, laid the bill for his transformation at her feet. Then, the second time... She never dared think so deeply, lest the reality be terrifying. Because the quote that was defied by him, left her hanging without explanation.

“Rory-”

“Hold please, I'm trying to remember something.”

She asked, and so he did.

Something she had read, something that had stuck, must explain her. But there was nothing. “I can't think.” Just a dull buzzing, the paralyzing moment on a final exam when a question you hadn't anticipated shone headlights right in your wide unblinking eyes.

She took a deep breath and tried to find an answer. “This will come out wrong. But you were right, at graduation. Maybe not right then, but it did have to be all or nothing. I hoped Vegas could be all _and_ nothing. You chose 'all,' I chose 'nothing.'” She didn't want to see his expression, not yet. “But, see, I couldn't choose 'nothing' unless _you_ picked 'all' and I'm not explaining this very well.”

“It depends,” he said dryly, rocking forwards even as he leaned back, “on where you're trying to go with this.”

False starts happen, scratch it out and try again. “You were raised by such incredibly unloving parents, and yet you love so openly. I couldn't have had a more loving mother, even my grandparents, even when we weren't close. My dad's parents – I can't even imagine if that was all I had. But I can't give myself away like that.” She urged him to understand. “No one can be my everything, not even my mom, and I can't be everything to someone else.”

He sat down on the smooth rock, head hanging, arms curled over his knees. A few pieces of hair broke away from the smooth style to wave in surrender. “Just walk away. Please.”

“Why?” The water was lapping ever closer.

“Because,” his voice broke, “I can't.” Then so low it may only have been the wind whispering: “Not again.”

_Listen._ To Logan trying to save her, not himself.

She didn't want to hesitate. Dropping off the ledge and onto her knees behind him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders, pressing her cheek into the crook of his neck squeezing so hard her necklace cut into her breastbone.

“'Being deeply loved by someone gives you strength, while loving someone deeply gives you courage.' - Lao Tzu” she whispered, as he shrank in on himself and she followed. “You're not Jess. Jess and I had something, we still do; it's like these mirrors we have, he holds one up and I see the person I was when we knew each other. Who I was, who I wanted to be.

“Yes, Jess gave me a direction. But you were the one who was there, giving me strength to jump off this path I didn't belong on but couldn't bring myself to leave. When my mom stopped talking to me, you were the one I wanted to tell me it would be okay. Except I couldn't, not when I'd always be wondering what she thought you were doing, who she thought you were talking to. When you couldn't answer because you were with her...”

“I'll always answer, Rory. Always.”

“But you shouldn't.”

He tilted his head, and she pressed her jaw against his pulse point, felt the ripple as he swallowed. His voice was unsteady. “It always felt like the only times I was truly happy, fully alive, were when I was with you, or talking to you. Knowing for whatever reason, right then, I was the one you were choosing.”

“But I just kept hurting you, over and over.” The shock of cold water hitting her knee made her cling yet closer. “I saw it, I saw myself doing it and I hated myself for that, but you just kept taking it and I hated you for that.”

“I love you,” was his simple reply. “If the best I had wasn't enough, I still had to try.”

“You're doing it again.” She shifted away from the incoming tide, rubbing her hand down his arm before grabbing his hand. “You never told me what to do, you were always brave enough to let me choose. I'm the coward, I always wanted to let you make your own choices, but when it wasn't me-”

“It was always you.” He shifted again, drawing his chin down her cheek to capture hers.

“'Before you give up, think about why you held on for so long,'” she muttered to herself. “That was to me and not you,” she rushed. “And I've thought about it, these past few days.”

A wave smacked a nearby rock before dribbling away. “And?”

This was hard. It had been hard enough to slowly realize, and it was harder to admit. “When you called me, I didn't want to come. And then I didn't want to stay, even though I really, really did. Because,” she hesitated, trying to give justice to the wordless wrench in her chest. “Because you deserve everything. And I knew you'd settle for anything.”

“You're here anyway.” Grasping her other hand, he wrapped both their arms around his chest as if he thought she'd disappear into the spray.

“Because when I think of you, I'm brave enough to try.”

With a shudder, Logan straightened, dislodging her. “The tide's coming in,” as if he'd only just realized.

“I don't care.” She'd kneel there until the water rose over her head if it meant they could be cleansed of her sins.

“C'mon.” Bringing her to her feet, they looked at each other for the first time. His face was damp, and naked longing filled his eyes, but it wasn't just that. Not hope, it was strength. The world shrank. “Run with me?” he whispered.

It wasn't really funny but she giggled, nerves and adrenaline leaving her raw and shivering. “Run where?”

“It doesn't matter. Nowhere. Everywhere. We don't need to run to anything. We don't need to run from anything. Just hold hands and run for the joy of it.”

She looked down at their fingers, still intertwined. Closed her eyes, and all the rubble fell away, leaving him, leaving her, leaving what had never changed. This time, she was the one to halve the distance between them. Searching her face for one beat, two, three and he closed the distance completely.

~*

The bags were gone when they climbed back up to dry land, treading carefully hand in hand with their damp shoes over purple ground. Voices called out to one another, groups and pairs of figures dotting the slope. Hiding against the castle wall they looked back, surveying the mosaic colour curving back and forth beneath them.

“What is it going to be?” she asked, tightening her grip.

His squeezed back. “I'll tell you if you want, but I'd rather show you.”

“Okay.” Patience was not always her strong suit, but for him, she would wait. “Except... It's not...”

The way he chuckled, pulling her around for an embrace, felt like being home for the first time in a long time. “A grand gesture of undying love? No, this one really is just something The Life and Death Brigade can be proud of.”

“Good. I mean, not _good_. You know what I mean.”

“I do at that, Ace. I promise, when I spring my next Grand Gesture on you, you'll know it.”

There was no fear, only anticipation. “Next?”

“Oh, I have years of surprises stockpiled for you.” Contentedness seeped out of him, filling her up. Warm and drowsy even as her feet were going numb. “Let's get you into some dry boots. Yeah, we figured someone was bound to fall in.” He pressed a smile into her forehead. “Though my money was on Finn.”

“In Omnia Paratus?”

“In Omnia Paratus,” he agreed. “Damn, I forgot,” his voice woke up. “Odette will be here somewhere. I need to check in on her.”

“Odette?” Uncertainty crept into the name.

“Not like that. If anything, she was relieved to be rid of me. I made a good fiance when we were in different countries, looked good on her arm at parties, but that was it. I figured she should get one good memory out of the deal, and if there's one thing we're good at-”

“-It's being memorable.”

Rosemary and Juliet found her while she was shoving wool-clad feet into boots only a touch too big.

“Well, it's done,” Juliet began, smirking.

For a heartstopping moment, Rory pictured the whole crowd watching her and Logan's private scene.

“Yep,” continued Rosemary. “I waited until Finn was being his most Finn-like, turned to him,” she stood straight, chin raised at the horizon in reenactment, “and said 'Finn, I've decided you've been aging in the barrel long enough, I'm tapping you out.'”

“And he understood that?”

“Hard to say, which is why I kissed him. We left him to Robert, we're heading back with drinks, I'm resigned to it taking a few more goes before his brain can process the way it is now.”

A moment to respect the faux solemnity, and then Rory added her squeals. The prospect of her friend-family growing made the future that much sweeter.

“Where's Logan?”

“Oh, he's around. He's wrapping some things up.”

The other girls exchanged a glance. “You two were down there for a while. Everything okay?”

Accepting a glass from a roving 'waiter,' she nodded. “It's better. It'll take a few more goes for us to sort things out too, but we're working on it.”

When Logan found them spreading deep blue he slowed to a stop a few feet away. “I've been up in the tower, we're getting close. Should be done ahead of schedule.”

In case there were any doubts about who knew what, Rory jumped into his arms, kissing him soundly. He caught her, just barely, swinging her around to muted cheers, whistles, and possibly cash changing hands. But what she heard was the thump of his heart, what she felt were the muscles supporting her, and what she saw were the lines at the corners of his eyes reminding her of the long journey life had thrown them. Years were lost, but she chose only to live in the now.

Juliet finally broke the moment with an innocent: “so the big mystery will finally be revealed?”

“When we finish up here we can head in. They're setting up the projectors now.”

Half an hour later, Logan saw the rest inside before tugging Rory away. “Nah, we're seeing this in person.”

When he led her down to a small speedboat, she raised an eyebrow at him. “We have to lift off from the mainland, can't risk the downdraft.” Looking out over the water she saw three helicopters, one already roaring to life. “I sent Odette on ahead. Believe it or not, she and Seth really hit it off.”

“Aww, I like Seth.”

“Trust me, I hope it works out for them. He could use some mellowing.”

“While you need all the excitement you can get,” she teased.

Holding the wheel steady with one hand, he tangled the other in her hair and leaned over, stopping with his lips barely brushing hers. “Oh, I'll show you excitement later,” and pulled back, laughing at her pout.

She'd been in helicopters before, it was always a little bit scary, and it was a little bit worse with your eyes closed, swinging back and forth and knowing what you were sitting next to was not a door, but a gaping maw. That was not, however, why she kept a grip on Logan's thigh as they flew out over the water.

“Okay, now,” he said as their forward motion ceased.

Looking straight down, it was even more than she'd expected.

“We did that,”she breathed, knowing no one could hear her over the motor. The island's grass, rocks, castle, all were draped in a Flower of Life. From crimson center the overlapping circles faded into cool tones until the ocean lapped at the edges, giving birth or taking it back.

“We _did_ that,” she repeated, loudly enough to be heard.

“That we did Ace.” Pride laced his confirmation.

She knew what it felt like to complete something. Turning in an essay, sending an issue to the printer, directing a wait staff to clean up after an event. Nothing compared to this, larger than life art alive with rippling petals and rolling waters already claiming their due. Drones flying ant-like paths beneath them, and human stragglers like bejeweled beetles.

“Now _this_ is a once in a lifetime.” She navigated taking a picture without losing her phone.

“It will be hard to top.” Logan wrapped his arm around her waist, resting his chin on her shoulder.

For a second shining eyes met, before falling back to the scene beneath. Slivers of green and gray were already cracking the surface. Making it all the more beautiful, like kintsugi's gilding of cracks.

“Last looks.” The pilot's voice came briskly through their headsets. “Time to head back.”

“That fast?”

“Satellite will be overhead in a few minutes. Didn't think we'd do all this without a proper record, did you?”

As they flew away the image changed, no longer mandella-flat. The breaks of walls, slope of hill, castle walls betraying the fact that perfection was a matter of perspective, and perfection could mean many things.

“One just happens to be overhead?” She quirked a skeptical brow.

He quirked on back. “Two actually. There are some very influential people here today.”

They ran down to the water, but before Logan could hand her back into the boat she stopped, tugging him closer.

“Wait. I want to watch from here for a while.”

Like glitter in a snowglobe, flecks of colour rode the air, mapping the breath of the sea. Like a hunt of moths, who had found the light all around them. Like a Goddess dancing on her throne.

Settling her head into his shoulder, she let her mind drift with them. And listened.


	4. As the dust settled around us

With the hard work over, it was time for The Life and Death Brigade to play hard. By the time Rory and Logan crossed back to the island the light was fading, and the castle was lit with life.

So loud was the crowd that Rory was unsurprisingly startled when their entrance was marked by a roll of applause. If Logan's half-step back was any indication, he hadn't been expecting it either, but quickly took it in stride, whispering “I'll be right back” just before a call for “speech, speech!” was taken up by the younger generations.

Now the image was in her head, all she could see was the ringmaster, taking center stage on the small pavilion, his audience firmly in hand.

“Ladies and Gentlemen,” a hush fell over the room. “And I use that term loosely for some of you,” he paused for the disproportionately female laughter, “most of us have graduated Yale. Left The Life and Death Brigade to new classes. But when the call came, every one of you answered. Proving that despite “growing up” and entering illustrious careers, the Brigade remains in our hearts and souls.

“You've all seen what we did here today. And I have a feeling we'll be seeing it, again and again, for many years to come.” He indicated the screens, where various views of the island were still displayed, some static, some moving, some from points in the creation, some in real time. “Apart from one expose by an intrepid reporter,” he gave Rory an indulgently proud smile, and her eyes darted for any other looks shooting her way, “we exist as rumour and whisper. Our activities have mostly become about giving ourselves experiences of living that can never be taken away.

“But tonight, we give something back to the world. Whether it be a pretty poster on a freshman's wall, a late night puzzle for the nerds,” tittering indicated self-proclaimed nerds were not in abundance within the walls, “or a ponderance for spiritual reflection, we give it freely, and we give it unsigned. To ourselves, we take another night back.

“This is the single largest gathering, the largest event, in The Bridgade's history, though I can only hope I'll live to see this one topped. Enjoy the moment, enjoy each other, and enjoy the party!” For most, this would be the capstone of a great speech, but not here, not now. The crowd waited, breath indrawn, and Logan held it, larger than life, until: “In Omnia Paratus!”

The applause crescendoed again, louder, prouder; not, this time, for Logan, but for themselves. As they turned in to their fellows Rory saw Logan slip off the stage, throw to the side his invisible top hat, and become simply the man she loved. Thinking that word, something in her chest felt warm and overflowed into her veins. An old feeling new again, familiar and yet not, a little like when she'd found Colonel Clucker in a box that had been sitting in Lane's garage.

She saw Mitchum headed for an intercept before Logan did, and made urgent pointing motions from waist height. Properly alerted, Logan hesitated for a moment, caught between successful flight and an inevitable conversation.

The two men reached her at the same time.

“Rory.” Mitchum inclined his head in recognition. “I can't say I'm surprised to see you here.” He wasn't a man to trifle with his intent, but she honestly couldn't tell if he approved, disapproved, or really didn't care.

“Dad.” In the word an adult warning mixed with a boyish plea for understanding. “We'll talk tomorrow. Let's just enjoy this night for what it is.”

Mitchum broke her gaze to survey his son. “You're right.” And an imposing figure became one amongst the many. “Tomorrow can be dealt with tomorrow. You've earned tonight.” A considering pause followed. “I do want to say one thing – you did well.” As the men shook hands with solid grip, Logan stood just a bit taller.

And then let out his breath as soon as they were left alone. “C'mon, I've scouted out the best spot.”

“The best spot for what?” She heard the taint of tension in his voice and ran her hand over his side to brush it away like a stray bit of fluff.

It seemed to work, and he swayed toward her with a devilish grin. “Do you want to play 20 questions, Ace, or go for it?”

“Hey, I'm just trying to figure out if I'm supposed to have a sword and shield in my purse, and if so, where to get them.”

“Now aren't you sad you made Colin turn all his equipment back in to the reenactors?”

“And prevent massive blood-loss miles from the ground, not to mention the nearest medical facility? If he still wants them in a week, they said they'll deliver.” She was still considering the lovely stola they'd offered to throw in gratis.

As they talked Logan had led them to a side door, antechamber stacked with blankets and alcohol. Snagging a couple of each, he passed the bottles to her and shouldered the rest. “Up we go.”

There were stairs. And more stairs. “It's a good thing I got out of those heels, or you'd be carrying _me_ along with this stuff.”

“It'll be worth it, trust me.”

A sign on the door read 'Please stay on the black. Do NOT shoot at the Drones. The Drones WILL shoot back. No, that is not a challenge.”

“Ominous.”

“Unless you've got a BB gun under there somewhere, nothing to worry about.” He held the door open for her, and she stepped onto tower roof.

The blankets were black, and narrow enough to stay on the line as instructed. Not, of course, an accident. Lying down they nestled easily together, head pressed to head, her leg thrown over his.

“This feels familiar,” she teased. “No shooting stars tonight either, I'm starting to sense a pattern here.”

Instead of rising to the bait, Logan propped himself on an elbow to look down at her. She willed herself to tumble down every guard, to gaze back as openly and lovingly as he was. His lips were gentle and lingering, his hand resting lightly on her thigh, tracing-

“Did you just check your watch?!” She grappled with his wrist to shake the offending item.

He heaved a sigh and fell back beside her. “And you even brought up the stars without prompting.” Fingers dancing over her hip let her know he was laughing inside. “A guy tries to create a perfect romantic moment, and he gets Jane Addams.”

She knew where his soft spots were, and tickled him in turn. “My apologies. Resume your perfect romantic moment.” An attempt to roll towards him was blocked by an arm pinning her back down.

“You've eaten up our kissing time. So to get back to your disappointment over heavenly entertainment,” the Ringmaster was back, beckoning to the skies, “I say... wait for it.”

On cue, stars fell from the sky.

“Logan!” She didn't need to ask what was happening as a drone crept by. It was there, close up, light on her outstretched hand. Atomized droplets hovered somewhere between bio-luminescence and twinkle. On her palm it looked like fairy dust, but it set the red petals on gentle fire. Bright enough to overcome the crescent moon and warm Logan's skin.

“Like it?” His voice held matching warmth.

“You really have thought of everything.”

He joined her at the edge of the tower to look down on the slow spread of otherworldly flower fields. The spoke-like sections lit up first, a six-legged starfish unfurling its limbs.

“This is what I always imagined it looked like in The Neverending Story, once Sebastian gave Moonchild her name.” The stones around her neck were heating from her fingers rubbing over them, as matching spots on her abdomen were heated by the scritching of Logan's fingers. The contrast with the soft breeze made her shiver in a pleasant way, as his arms wrapped fully around her.

“Really?” he scoffed. “Only a reference, no quote?”

“Challenge accepted mister.” Midtones crept out through the night as she thought. “'A garden to walk in and immensity to drown in - what more could he ask? A few flowers at his feet and above him the stars.' - Victory Hugo.”

“Now there are two authors I never thought I'd hear back to back.”

“'A well read woman is a dangerous creature.' Lisa Kleypas I think, though it's more of an unattributed meme now.” This was a game she could play all night. “Your turn,” and she bumped back against him.

“I was going to say 'Those who don't believe in magic will never find it.' - Roald Dahl.”

A simple, fitting quote, but as several things that night, more telling perhaps than Logan realized. Little Billy defying his mother by running into the forbidden Forest of Sin, stuck up a tree until the great monster was defeated. Only for Logan, maybe the beast still lurked, as he threw down scraps.

“You know, The Minpins was his last book, published posthumously.”

“Hunter gave it to me for my 12th birthday. I read it every night for a year.” Whispers tickled her ear as he nuzzled around her hairline. “I didn't realize it read unfinished for years. And then I loved it even more. You can see the cracks he didn't have time to fill. The rush of passion before reason could take hold.”

There wasn't much she could say in return to that declaration, instead marking the pairs and groups now populating the landscape.

She shivered again, fine hairs on her arms lifting as a sense of unreality set in. It was become time out of time. Her body was pressed against a body. And in that body was a man. And in that man there was a boy. And in that boy lay the memory of a heart given freely to the girl curled deep inside of her. A heart she wanted to plant alongside her own, water and watch with care tender and sweet.

What were those children now but a rose coloured dream? Who were they now, grown, joined by a bond stretched by time and the restless tugs of the wide world? Why had it never snapped? And could it yet break, once and for all, gossamer proved ethereal or deceptively sticky and strong, a spider weave of eternity?

She gave it an exploratory tug. “It feels like...” she hesitated, lest the thread prove only a trick of the light. “Sometimes I feel like I don't know you anymore. Like I can't see you.” A deep secret, was this fear. Her own skin grown too thick between them.

Kisses ran back and forth over her shoulder in negation. “I'm the same me I've always been, Ace. You know me better than anyone.”

Perhaps that was true. Probably it was. In her youth that would have settled it. But now, having examined the facts of her history, her head questioned her heart, as all she was primed to see were the undercurrents glossed over or unseen by biased, limited eyes. He wasn't the same. She wasn't the same. But. She also didn't care. Time never stands still. And that doesn't have to be a bad thing. They had been deeply flawed, in their youth.

The tinge of acceptance in his voice was what brought her back to herself, banishing the bubble that had entrapped her. “Reconsidering Ace?”

“NO,” she gave the word all the force she could muster, punctuated by a matchstick kiss rasping tongue against tongue to ignite a ballooning fire only tamped when a jerk of his hips crushed her into the wall.

Each panting, forehead to forehead, mindful of eyes and cameras all around, they let a cool wisp slip between them.

“Logan, I'm sorry. I don't know why it's so hard for me to live in the moment,” she confessed.

For whatever reason he found that funny, laughing back at the crooked grin of the moon. “What use would I be if you did?”

It was strange, again, this sudden proof she was assessed in turn. That Logan wasn't the only one who had mysteries to unravel by a careful eye, nor she the only one picking apart threads.

She smiled, and the thread felt more like a rope. Resolving to try harder to set aside the thinking, thinking, thinking, she let him guide her back to their blanket. Lingering her hand over his as he draped the second blanket over her shoulders, she was rewarded by the lean of his body weight as he uncorked the wine bottle around her.

“No glasses?”

“Nah, rustic charm tonight.” He offered her the first swig, if one can properly swig wine while wearing a silk gown. Yes, she decided, she could, with a borrowed glint in her eye.

“So very sophisticated we can be unsophisticated?” It was either the nature of a bottle, or how much easier it was to pour into your mouth than sip over a rim, but the wine shot to her head in breathless rush.

Logan took a dashing swig of his own, continuing in the same matter-of-factness. “I've been thinking about it too. The future. I know you have to get back home.” She couldn't honestly argue against that: with her newspaper staff largely married to analog, working remotely was not a tenable option. He cupped the air: “I'm officially on vacation for the next month, so I'd like to come home with you.”

“To Hartford?”

“To wherever you are,” was his sincere reply. “Look, I know it's not a long term solution, and I do have some ideas about that. But I know you too Ace, three days ago I was someone you used to- to know, and I was running out of time. We can take it slow, we _should_ take it slow. I have all the time in the world.”

Was it only three days? She took another sip, and did the math. “It's been a long three days.”

“That it has. 'A lifetime lived in the space of a heartbeat.'”

“I don't recognize the quote?” Though it sounded familiar.

His lips quirked. “I made it up. An original Logan Huntzberger.”

She let it pass. “As moments go, I could stay in this one forever.” She scooped a handful of glittering petals for the joy of holding them.

Logan pinched a few, and tucked them into her hair. “No arguments here.” By the warm squint, she knew he was taking a mental snapshot. This one, destined to be paused over while flipping through a mental photo album, rather than a last bittersweet linger.

“Can I ask you something?” Whatever confusion she might have about tomorrow, next week, next month – when she focused on his face she felt a peculiar combination of giddy anticipation and an energized Lorelai-style rage against the cobwebs lurking in the corner of their new life.

“Shoot.”

“Why didn't you ever break it off with Odette? Before?”

He hesitated, grinding a black petal into a smudge on the stone. “Can I ask you first – why did you keep seeing Paul?”

“Paul,” she corrected automatically, before her brain caught up. No one had ever gotten the name right before. It was a fair question, but really, she thought he knew. “Mainly so I could prove to myself, – and to you too, I guess – that 'Vegas' wasn't all I had.”

Logan nodded reflectively. “I think, when it came down to it, I didn't keep that charade going because of the Plan, or because it was easier. It was because to keep what we had, keep anything at all, I had to keep Odette. She was the only thing I had to even pretend I believed in Vegas.” Unfocused eyes rested on her cupped hand. “Without her I'd be making you choose, me or not me, and when you didn't want me again,” he killed the bottle, uncorked the second, and gave it a good bludgeon before handing it over as she _listened_ for the hanging clause. “I got through it when you left me before because I had a new career to throw myself into. I don't have those kind of challenges anymore. I guess,” he trailed with a fragile smile, covering her hand with his as a breeze picked up, “it's because I was too scared to let you fly away.”

Rory heard him, and her thoughts turned inwards. It mattered, what he thought, what he felt. But in the comparison her answer had come so easily, so flip, it couldn't be the truth. Not the whole truth. She owed them both more.

“Paul is a good guy. A really good guy. He was never the one for me, but I turned him into a phantom because that made me feel like I was too good for him. Like - oh god, it's embarrassing - like I was so   
busy and important a whole relationship couldn't compete.” Dead end jobs that let her fly across the world, blowing through her trust fund, it was all the same. “I needed one thing I could pretend was stable when I was alone in the dark and it felt like everything was falling apart. I can't believe he bought into it too.”

Logan had been watching her closely, she felt his eyes even as hers went everywhere else. “I can.”

“I want you to come back with me, yes, because I can never even try to believe again that you're – that _we're_ something I leave behind.” She finished in a rush, the space between them full of her words, the space inside of her filled with disbelief that, all evidence to the contrary, she'd ever told herself she left Logan behind when she flew out of London.

“Well.” He wiped his thumb around the lip of the bottle then drew it across her bottom lip. A drop formed and threatened to fall before he caught it with his tongue. “This has been a night for heavy conversations, hasn't it?”

She laughed, relieved, bubble of turmoil popped. Taking the bottle, she downed the rest. It was more than she thought and she almost choked, coughing and laughing at the same time. “It was years' worth. I almost feel like there should be more. Shouldn't there be more?”

He stood up then, offering her his hand. “There will be books worth of conversations. A lifetime we haven't even lived yet worth. But for now?” He smirked, tweaked her chin. “I dunno Ace. Maybe our answer is so simple, there's no point.”

~*

The party downstairs was a little drunker than when they'd left it. Otherwise not much had changed. Except Colin had been vertical before, of course.

“What happened?” Rory asked, leaning down to examine his face as he lay on a couch, head on Stephanie's lap.

“He tried to shoot down a drone,” Robert responded. “We all agreed it was our civic duty to uncover any empty threats lurking in our otherwise integrity-ridden organization.”

“Colin was shot?!” She surveyed more frantically for signs of blood.

“Tranquilizer dart, love.” Finn held one up, probably the culprit. “Colin drew the short straw.”

“Technically, Finn did,” Rosemary chimed in from her position at his side.

Stephanie picked up the story. “Colin was the unwitting human shield.”

Faced with the disgust of four women, Finn did his best to defend himself. “I could hardly use one of the ladies, now could I? I'm not a savage.”

“Not to mention Colin was largest and closest.” Robert punctured the bravado. But this is what you get for leaving children in charge of security.”

Juliet rolled her eyes at Rory. “They're disappointed it wasn't buckshot.”

“Pain is a deterrent, there's no shame in letting someone else take the bullet. But what's a nap?”

“Having to sleep through the party.”

“Nah, he'll be up in an hour,” Logan added lazily.

“Sober too I'll bet, lucky sod. He'll have the fun of getting drunk all over again.”

“Meanwhile, we stand guard over our fallen comrade, protecting him from such childish pranks as might befall the defenseless. Sharpie mustaches, say, or fingers relocated to bowls of water.”

“They've tried twice already.” It was Stephanie, this time, rolling her eyes. “Why don't you boys go get us some drinks. Nursing is thirsty work. Feel free to take the long way.” If not by tone of voice, her not-quite-serious glare successfully indicated it was not a suggestion.

Rory had been eyeing Stephanie's hand, absently running through Colin's hair. “Colin?”

Stephanie nodded. “Logan?”

Rory smiled, glancing to a tittering Rosemary. “Finn?”

Rosemary nodded, and jerked her head toward a suddenly shy Juliet. “Robert.”

Four heads twitched back and forth, each looking at the others in factorial fashion, until in stereo: “boys.” And laughed.

Rory had always felt a little apart in groups, especially groups of females. And the other three definitely knew each other better than she did. But yet, somewhere between the nostalgia of the night and their easy acceptance of her as one of them, she relaxed.

“So what have you three been up to since graduation?” Much as Stephanie and Juliet had once reminded her of her old high school “crew,” they now displayed poise and self-assurance that belied her assumptions.

“Soccer mom – divorced of course,” Juliet volunteered. “I even learned to drive one of those massive SUVs, and mom jeans are coming back into style, thank god.”

“I was in the ballroom dancing world for a while,” said Rosemary. “Dancing with the Stars was such an inspiration. And the costumes! Alas, my partner ran off with the shoemaker, and I didn't have the heart to continue after that.”

Rory looked at her thoughtfully.

“Astronaut training for me,” Stephanie took her turn. “I know I'm not an obvious choice, especially given those fugly suits, but Buzz Aldrin is still a hottie, and my hair looks amazing in zero gravity.”

“Hold on,” belatedly, a lightbulb went off in Rory's head as she looked at their expectant faces. “What have you _really_ been up to?”

They laughed.

“Well,” Stephanie looked not the least repentant over the joke. “Juliet did just produce an SUV commercial, Rosemary designed Beyonce's costumes for her new music video, and I just finished editing the latest greatest space novel, soon to be the next Hollywood Blockbuster – we hope.”

“You're an editor?”

“Yep, and that's why we don't need to ask what you've been up to. We all saw you in the New Yorker, of course, but my firm's publishing your book. Frank's an amazing choice, by the way, you're in good hands.”

Rory was gobsmacked.

“Small world right?” Juliet flicked her hair back. “Frank gave Stephanie a copy of your first couple chapters and she passed it around. Hope you don't mind.”

Small world indeed. Rory shifted on her chair. “It's a big project, I'm still trying to nail down-”

“No, don't even try to brush it off!” Rosemary made her own flicking motions. “We knew you grew up in a small town, of course, but your mother?-”

“-Our new hero.” Juliet interjected. “I get dibs on movie rights. I already know who I want-”

“-We leave for five minutes and the girls are talking shop.” Logan's voice materialized behind her. “Boys, we need to step up our game, clearly we aren't being distracting enough with our manly wiles.” He pressed a kiss to her cheek, slipping a tumbler into her hand.

Rory grabbed at his fingers in greeting, caught between the heady change in their relationship status, and a sense of absolute familiarity. As if nothing had changed at all, since their college days, and everything in between was but a bad dream. It had always been so easy, with him, to fall straight into coupledom.

“I told you we shouldn't have left them alone,” Robert mused. “Observe how our provider instincts are already being taken for granted.”

“Clearly you three are whipped. And I note no one thought to bring the fallen a reviving beverage.”

All heads swung to the couch, and Stephanie stood abruptly, landing Colin a disgruntled heap on the floor.

“How long have you been awake?”

Logan's hand still peaceably resting beneath hers, Rory stared at their twined fingers. It wasn't that she didn't want to drag him off to the nearest semi-private corner. But that she also wanted – _needed_ \- this whirlwind week to be the start of their new lives. Together, but not in isolation, not hidden in Vegas anymore.

“Thank you boys, but I think we have all we need.” She lofted her drink, pressing Logan's hand again to assure him this wasn't a brushoff. “Girls, who's up for a stroll?”

~*

In a scene delightfully like a passage from a Jane Austen novel, Rory found herself wandering the dark paths, arm in arm with Stephanie as the other girls giggled nearby.

“I really think you should start considering it,” the other girl remarked, as they passed The Fonz without remark.

“Consider what?”

“Selling the movie rights. Juliet wasn't joking. I heard you shot it down when it was brought up early on, but you have connections. I know it can feel like giving up your baby-” Stephanie caught herself “-sorry, bad analogy, but we can protect you. As much input as you want, you can choose your own team.”

Lorelai, of course, had made all the jokes and casting requests, but neither of them had taken it seriously. “I guess I never really thought about it. A book I understand, but a movie? No one may even like the book.”

Stephanie waved that aside. “Forgive the professional pragmatism, but that's all marketing. The book is great, the only thing you don't have is a public persona coming in, but that can be a good thing. It gives you built-in authenticity, and everyone likes to be in on the ground floor.”

“I mean...” Bearing in mind tipsy ideas tended to all feel like good ideas, Rory started an internal pro-con list. “I don't know how everyone would feel, having actors play them. Me writing about them, okay, but...”

Stephanie tugged her at an intersection, towards the water. “That's what release forms are for. But seriously, based on your depictions, the entirety of Stars Hollow is one delightfully crazy town meeting away from signing it for you.”

“And then there's my mom. And my grandmother- She's old fashioned, and a movie just feels like...” Like a few years earlier, it would be unacceptably intrusive. But with her grandfather gone, and Emily's new disdain of, well, _uptightness_... she wasn't so sure.

“I hear gears turning.” It was said playfully, they were just two old college friends hanging out, and yet...

And yet one little mental twist and. It had been Richard's world, where a handshake on a golf course, one missed putt, changed the world. It was Mitchum's world. It was Logan's. And.

And there were two young women in gowns standing at the edge of a borrowed island glowing in the night. The result of one of the largest pranks in history, surrounded by hundreds of men and women even less at the center of it who felt above, remote, because they had the confidence in themselves to do one little thing.

Turning to face her friend, Rory offered her hand. “It may not work out, but I'm in.”

Cool blues swirled and shimmered like electricity along their hands and up their arms.

They shook on it.

~*

“Rory.” A sudden jostle roused her from the narrow focus on her computer screen. The last round of comments hadn't come back yet but she'd had a brain wave, and it felt good to get back to work.

“Yes? Sorry, do I need to turn off- Lisa?” The flight attendant she'd met 4 days and a lifetime ago was smiling down at her, flicking not-so-subtle glances at the man reclining next to her in First Class.

“I hope France went well?”

Rory's smile grew from acorn to towering oak. “Do I have a story for you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to say - I started writing this a bit over a year ago, before the world fell down (this story is re-archived here.) And realizing that, I'm reminded of how fandom accommodates but does not itself break. Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed, and my greatest hope this season is that you and your loved ones may be safe and well. -atr


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